


let the right one in

by Alltidvinter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amorality, Changelings, Child Murder, Christmas Angst, Disturbing Themes, Good King Wenceslas, M/M, Post Souless Sam, Season/Series 07, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 03:32:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17052302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alltidvinter/pseuds/Alltidvinter
Summary: What would you want me to say, Sammy? That she's just a little girl, lost in the woods, and you are the Sugarplum Fairy and I'm the bloody Good King Wenceslas, looking down his window on the Feast of Stephen, seeing a poor man and doing nothing?[Advent Calendar 2018 - Wincestare Cattive Come Sam][Prompt: #Changeling]





	let the right one in

 

Come, Dean Winchester. Look outside the window. There's a monster in the playground, waiting to eat a child. The monster has red cheeks and earmuffs of _Frozen_ – Anna on one ear, Elsa on the other - but make no mistake, it's a monster nonetheless.

 

It's Christmas Eve and your brother's eyes are full of blood.

 

If it was up to you, you would go out full Vietnam-style, your beloved Red Dragon secured on the back, to give that son of a bitch a taste of its own medicine. You know why it's here. There's a single mother in the next room of the motel you're staying in. You spoke with her, a couple of times: she's young and she feeds her daughter instant noodles from Walmart, but she's fucking trying and that thing in the snow looks exactly like her daughter, _except it's not her daughter, it's waiting for her daughter_.

 

And yet. And yet Sam keeps saying that no, it's just the little girl, waiting for her mom to call her back for supper. _Lies_. But he's your brother and his eyes are so full of blood. They say it hurts like hell, when a soul is ripped from a body, and so much more when it's put back in.

 

_Just let it go, Dean, just for this time. After all, it's Christmas, isn't it?_

 

There's nothing spookier than an empty playground covered in snow at night, when the yellow light of the street lamps casts shadows where shadows aren't supposed to be. That's not even a real playground, just a shaky slide for white-trash kids to slide on, while their junkie parents shoot up a fix inside. The landlord tried to deck the place a little bit, but the Christmas tree in the hall is painfully skinny and already dry. It's no Aspen but it's a place, as good as any, to let Sam rest, after everything he's been through.

 

 _It's not fair, goddammit_.

 

Now, look inside, Dean Winchester. Look at your brother. He's so beautiful, isn't it? Lying on messy sheets, his forehead shining with sweat, almost exquisite in his delirium. His eyes are those of a child, full of blood to the brim. He has seen it all, in the Cage, all the blood spilled in the history of mankind. You have always loved his eyes. _You're a hunter, Sam!_ \- that's what you'd want to shout – _You're better than this!_ Is he, though? Are you?

 

_Am I my brother's keeper, Lord?_

 

You know God, he's just a winged asshole. He's not coming to make this decision for you. It will take the girl, you know that. Maybe not tomorrow, but it will take her. Changelings are sneaky bastards. They look, act, talk like the children they stole, that's why it's so hard to kill them. Not for you, of course. You've seen that before. You lost a mother and a child before. Those whose names you refuse to speak.

 

_What would you want me to say, Sammy? That she's just a little girl, lost in the woods, and you are the Sugarplum Fairy and I'm the bloody Good King Wenceslas, looking down his window on the Feast of Stephen, seeing a poor man and doing NOTHING?_

 

But Good King Wenceslas had a page, not a brother. And your brother's eyes are full of blood.

 

_A Christmas gift._

 

So go ahead, Dean Winchester. Hide yourself in this room full of sweat and regret. Ignore the monster in the playground, just outside the window. Thrust your despair between your brother's thighs, kiss his screams from his open lips, swallow his seed as if it were the blood of the innocents in the next room.

 

After all, you both have already been to Hell. What difference will it make?

 

_Merry Christmas, Sammy._

 


End file.
